


Fracture

by dragonkami



Category: Real Person Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:15:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonkami/pseuds/dragonkami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was an idea I started working on when I was trying to compete in NaNoWriMo in 2013.  I'm not sure if this is the correct category since there really is no particular fandom but the characters do have a basis in Celtic and Norse mythology if that helps.</p><p>"There is a door in the capital only able to be opened by "the heart of shadow, tempered in fire" with a secret that will either save or destroy Kingstead."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fracture

SLAP! Her cheek stung as she collapsed into a puddle of red-gold hair and faded blue fabric. Another blow collided against her back with such force her face slammed into the dirt. Tears mingled with soil as a rough blade lightly caressed pale skin.  


Brighid's eyes snapped open, all traces of what had been a meditative state erased. A drop of blood gently splashed on her now clenched hands. Blinking against the dimming light of the forest she surveyed her surroundings warily, pulse still pounding. Leaves rustled and a hound bayed in the distance. Someone was coming. Her hand closed around her staff, the smooth wood reassuring her tense fingers. A chill slipped down her spine that had nothing to do with the brisk autumn breeze.  


CRACK! Twigs snapped and the sound of hurried feet echoed in the air. A body burst into her clearing, it's movement abruptly halted by a well-placed staff to the gut. A guttural moan escaped the figure, a girl by the look of it, splayed on the ground. The crashing of underbrush heralded the arrival of two burly Viking warriors who burst into the clearing and halted upon seeing Brighid between them and their quarry, still sprawled in the leaves. The silence stretched between them, broken only by ragged breathing. After a moment, Brighid spoke.  


"What do you want?" Her voice was quiet, civil almost, but a ripple of displeasure at the invasion of her sacred space issued a voiceless challenge.  


"We don't answer to you. Give us the girl." The man's voice was edged with bloodlust, heavy with the expectation of battle. Both men had hands on their weapons, though there was no tension in their movement. One of them, broad-shouldered and blonde, even smiled slyly.  


"What do you want?" Brighid's body grew tense and hot. There was nothing civil in her voice now. The Vikings exchanged a glance that seemed almost excited.  


The silvery SHING of the dark-haired Viking's sword being drawn barely registered in her ears as blade bit into wood. Pushing back against his brutal strength, she was forced to one knee until he drew back to ready for a lethal strike. The adrenaline of an impending victory glittered in his dark eyes as the blade limned a vicious downward arc toward Brighid's exposed neck, but rapidly changed to surprise when it crashed down on nothing but the golden carpet of leaves. His blonde compatriot, who had clearly expected an easy conquest of both women, leaped forward, battleax in hand, to intercept her quick feint away from the blade. His brawl-bitten hand closed around Brighid's flame-golden hair as she got to her feet and nearly pulled her off them again. A small grunt of pain spilled softly off her lips. That small outcry was an aphrodisiac to the two warriors.  


"Well, seems we've snared ourselves a vixen to bring back with our little mouse. What say you, Bjarke?" The burly blonde gave Brighid's head another rough shake.  


"It certainly does, Bjarin," he sneered, "I think we need to tame her. She'd make a fine slave." He grabbed the ornate staff still clutched in Brighid's fingers and ripped it away, tossing it in the leaves. He advanced, a lascivious grin barely concealed at the rage silently roaring behind the green eyes that glared at him.  


"Such lovely eyes," Bjarke sneered as he brushed roughened fingers against her brow. "Lovelier still when I've extinguished the fire behind them." The pressure of battle-scarred steel gently kissed her taut throat. Putrid, mead-soaked breath assailed her nostrils and she had to fight the urge to gag. Harsh fingers lightly touched pale skin beneath his blade and drifted almost coyly to the neck of her tunic. Her skin crawled at his touch as she struggled against the arms holding her prisoner.  


"No use, girl. No one to hear you scream or come to your rescue. Jarl owes us a bit of fun after all our hard work for him, so you're going to be it. Perhaps the girl as well," Bjarin's heated voiced dripped into her ear, even as she continued to struggle against him. He laughed but pulled her away from Bjarke's searching fingers. "I get this one first. You take the girl. No danger of you being too big for such a slip of a thing." Bjarke's face flared with anger.  


"Black-toothed he-goat! If it didn't mean losing our prizes, my blade would be drinking your blood until the day was ended!" Thick fingers fumbled to remove the heavy fur cloak around his shoulders while trying to brandish his weapon at his compatriot. "How like you to hide behind a girl! Face me like a man!"

Bjarin snarled wordlessly at the challenge. His grip on her wrists tightened as he dragged her back further from his sputtering, blustering comrade. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out with pain. Without warning, the dark haired Viking charged forward, blade poised to strike down one or both of them. Brighid was hurled back, landing in a rough tangle of cloth and leaves, barely able to register the sound of combat a few feet away.  


The sharp sound of steel biting steel splintered the crisp air in the clearing. Even as its echoes died, the warrior's grunts of exertion persisted. Bjarin strained against Bjarke's force, the crazed warrior's sword almost touching his forehead. His reflexes had saved his skull from cleaving, but now the men were engaged in a brutal deadlock. Minutes ticked by with neither warrior giving ground.  


Bjarin knew he had to take a risk to end Bjarke's madness. It didn't take long when he noticed Bjarke's muscles beginning to tremble. With a deft, practiced twist of his axe, Bjarin relieved his comrade of his weapon, followed by a sickening thud as his bracer connected with the side of his skull. Bjarke fell back in a daze and the light of the berserker left his eyes.

Feeling a strange dampness trailing down her face, Brighid gingerly touched her forehead. Her vision blurred as her fingertips came away coated in crimson that matched a nearby stone buried in the leaves. Her hands clenched and unclenched the leaves, twigs, and damp soil as she willed herself to move while the warriors were distracted. Waves of nausea seized her and blackness began to creep into her consciousness.  


A rough hand seized her hair, jarring her to consciousness long enough to register being on her back. Blackness rolled in again, shutting out the blonde figure looming over her. As her consciousness ebbed and flowed she became dimly aware of rustling cloth, unwelcome pressure against her thighs, putrid hot breath against her neck and leathery hands slithering about her body seeking ways to expose her. Her instincts screamed at her to fight back every moment her consciousness returned but the signals couldn't seem to reach her now deadened limbs. It was almost like watching Bjarin bear down on her like it was someone else.  


Suddenly a fierce gust of wind kicked up a veritable tornado of leaves and a terrible roar shook the air. Bjarin started, angry and defensive, thinking Bjarke had finally come to and meant to take him from the lovely doll he was working so gently and patiently to undress. What he saw instead robbed him of his breath. Their original quarry, a lovely young girl with fair skin and white-blonde hair, hovered an inch above still swirling leaves, her body seemingly lifeless but eyes wide and glowing a hellish violet. A sinister miasma wrapped around her, hypnotizing the hapless warrior until at last the voice of a demon broke the spell.  


"Get away from her," it growled. A lifeless arm suddenly jerked toward Bjarin sending a tendril of miasma directly into the warrior's chest. He flew back, landing near his now semi-conscious compatriot with a groan of pain. The same tendril snaked its way around Brighid's barely conscious form, lifting her to her feet.  


"Warrior, awaken." The voice was gentler, almost pleading. A short burst of lightning shot through the tendril into Brighid's body, snapping her fully back to herself. Brighid's eyes darted around the clearing for the source of the shock and they lighted upon the floating figure. She hovered only a moment more before collapsing to the leaves, unconscious, miasma and sinister air vanished. Whipping around at the rustle of leaves, Brighid saw the two warriors rising to their feet only a few yards away.

Seizing the opportunity before her she willed her legs into action, closing the distance between them. Still struggling to sit up, Bjarke was thrown back to the dirt again by a leather-clad foot smashing into his face. Pivoting quickly, the unlucky face of Bjarin received much the same treatment. Both men were flat on their backs, dazed once again. Seizing a thick branch lying near a lightning-split tree, Brighid swung it in well-practiced arcs with all her might, rendering the two fully unconscious. She stilled herself a moment, branch still poised to strike at any movement but none came. She turned and darted back toward the lifeless body of the girl who had somehow saved her, fearing the worst.


End file.
